


Tuesdays with Zombies

by strawberryfinn



Category: One Direction (Band), X Factor RPF
Genre: Apocalypse, Crack, Gen, Horror, Humor, Multi, Other, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-15 18:33:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryfinn/pseuds/strawberryfinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zombies. Just zombies.<br/>In which Niall is badass and hungry, Liam is responsible, Harry is naked, Zayn is difficult, and Louis throws up a lot.<br/>While on tour, the five brave and dashingly handsome members of One Direction are coming face to face with the biggest challenge they’ve seen yet. Zombies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the end of the world comes on tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> So this story was born from the crackish depths of my mind. Just zombies.

If anybody had asked Harry Styles what he figured the End of The World world would look like before that Tuesday, he might have looked at them and asked if they were daft.

Then, if he thought more about it, he might have looked thoughtfully upwards, feline green eyes sparkling slowly with understanding, and turned to say in his infuriatingly slow voice that it would be waking up and realizing that _it_ was all a dream.

 _It,_ of course, would be referring to the unexpected burst of fame that had graced his life—the explosion of popularity and fangirls, the thousands of people he would never know by name who listened to his music and wanted his autograph. The fans who took pictures of him and who dedicated Tumblrs and websites to him and who even wrote disturbing, sexual fanfiction about him. And the boys of course. The End of Harry's World would be if he woke up and realized he'd never met Niall, Louis, Zayn, or Liam, and everything had just been a dream.

This might sound a bit silly, considering there are much worse things that can happen, but to an eighteen-year-old Harry Styles who was barely figuring out what he wanted and who he was and how to stay out of tabloids, the Apocalypse would consist of One Direction never existing.

The perk of being in a world-famous, British boyband is—of course, other than the screaming arena of fans and the loads of free merchandise and the thrill of hearing his voice on the radio and the money... yeah, the money admittedly quite nice—the girls. Harry likes knowing that he can have any girl he wants—within reason, of course. That bit's not so bad.

But unfortunately this perk also has some bad bits. Like the fangirls who are so crazy they'll pull his hair and grab his junk and make creepy shrines to him in their closets. Yes, Harry finds it a bit flattering, but there's no denying that there's a bit of a blind, thoughtless worship to him that borders on scary. And being chased by screams and shouts of adoration and proposals of marriage can get old pretty quickly. It's also a bit unnerving that he needs security guards on either side of him whenever he goes out to avoid being stampeded to death and ripped to shreds.

So when Harry wakes up that Tuesday morning and sees a slim figure looming above him wearing a t-shirt with his own good-lucking mug plastered on it, his first thought is _shit,_ some girl has actually done it. Some loony American girl has gone completely mental and now she's here—she's broken into his hotel room and she's probably taken pictures of him while he was asleep. She's going to post them online and steal all of his clothes to sell them on eBay so he'll be left naked. He doesn't know how she got past security—maybe she hid in the vents or something and watched him as he slept (he shudders at this thought)—but she is here and he starts screaming at her to get out.

“What are you doing here?” he blusters angrily, green eyes narrowing, pulling up the blankets around him. He doesn't have anything on but a pair of boxers, and this girl is sure as hell doesn't deserve to see his four nipples. “I'll sign an autograph or something, but just get outside! You can't be here! This is an invasion of privacy!”

Then he stops yelling at her when he realizes she's not paying the slightest attention.

There's something wrong with the fan. She's moaning, drooling, head lolling around uselessly as her stringy blonde hair flops over her face, and Harry thinks she might be drunk. Maybe she's taken a few too many pints, or maybe Zayn brought her back last night and forgot about her or something. But as Harry studies her more and more, he knows that couldn't be the case.

She isn't drunk.

Harry stares at her puzzledly.

Instead of listening to him, the fan just keeps making these weird grunting noises.

And then she does something completely unexpected.

She lunges towards him, teeth bared and eyes clear white and rolled back in her head, and Harry gets a good look at the blood dripping down her chin.

And dear God, her _face._ It's a mottled grey color with gaping bloody wounds and there's little chunks of—is that _flesh?_ —lodged in her teeth.

If anybody had asked Harry what he figured the End of the World would be after that Tuesday, he'd probably say it looked like being _literally_ eaten alive by a deranged, zombified fan.

+

Liam Payne never really talks about his workout regimen in interviews, but it's pretty obvious that in order to look the way he does, he has to put in the work. After all, one doesn't just grow a six-pack overnight. It takes diligence, a steady routine of exercise, a healthy diet and self-control. He already has one-up on the other boys in that he doesn't drink (there are so many unecessary calories in alcohol—honestly), and with the fact that he's the responsible one of the band—the Daddy Direction, perse—it only makes sense that he puts a lot of thought into his health as well.

So on Tuesday morning, Liam Payne is in the hotel's gym, bright and early. He breathes heavily, sweat soaking through his shirt and trickling down his face as he runs on the treadmill, headphones in his ears. Liam glances over at Zayn who is standing in the corner of the room.

While Liam is burning calories and being productive, Zayn is staring stupidly at the floor. Liam watches as the dark-haired boy rubs his eyes sleepily, looking absolutely miserable.

“Zayn,” Liam calls, pulling his headphones out of his ear and temporarily pausing the treadmill. “Come over here and run with me, mate.”

Zayn pouts, jutting his bottom lip out impressively far. His eyebrows form a deep furrow as he stares at Liam sulkily. “No,” he mutters sullenly. “I'm tired. Why didn't you let me sleep?”

“You said you wanted to work out,” Liam replies curtly and unsympathetically. His eyes soften a little when Zayn throws him a glance of abject misery. “Come on, Zayn, it's good for you.” He feels like he's being a parent, wheedling and coddling a stubborn child.

“Whatever,” Zayn scoffs, broody brown eyes hardening. “I need a smoke,” he declares, and whips out a lighter and a cigarette.

Liam looks at him with disapproval. “I thought you were going to quit.” His voice is a bit more pedantic and critical than he intends, and he wipes the sweat off his brow.

Zayn doesn't answer, just purses his lips around a lit cigarette and blows wisps of smoke at Liam. Cheeky bastard.

“You know, if the world ever ends and we're being attacked by zombies or something, your lungs are going to be shit at getting you anywhere,” Liam says measuredly as he starts to put his earbud in.

“Oh shut up.” Zayn scowls as he inhales again. “You've been reading too many comic books, Liam. Like _zombies_ are ever going to attack us.”

“Okay, suit yourself,” Liam replies, turning up his music. “But don't come crying to me when I get voted for having the best body again.”

The music is so loud and Liam is so focused on running, that he zones out a bit. Just focuses on breathing in and out, building his impressive lung capacity and watching the disgruntled looking Zayn from the corner of his eye.

It's only when the song ends when he realizes there's someone breathing heavily behind him.

+

Niall is pretty sure he's in Heaven. Meaty, creamy, sandwich heaven to be completely honest. And no, that isn't supposed to be sexual at all. (Don't be perverted).

Niall opens his mouth to take his first bite of the best subway sandwich he's ever seen in his life—an entire baguette stuffed with pastrami, salami, roast beef, ham, turkey, four different types of cheeses, avocadoes, tomatoes, lettuce, slathered with mayonnaise and mustard, and well... you get the idea—when the door to his room is literally thrown off its hinges with an impressive bang.

Niall watches, mouth gaping slightly open, as he watches a shirtless Harry dance with a girl into the room. The girl is pretty aggressive, actually, and keeps pushing Harry forcefully up against the wall, and Niall is pretty sure she's bleeding. Forehead furrowed in distress and frown forming at his lips, Niall feels a bit awkward. Sure, he and Harry are mates and all, but isn't sucking face and sex supposed to be for the bedroom? And when did Harry get so _kinky?_

“Oh, sorry. I'll leave,” he manages, starting to wrap up the most glorious of subs. He's a bit put out at Harry for being so inconsiderate—honestly, if they want to have violent, wild sex, they can have wild, bloody sex in Harry's _own_ bedroom.

“No! Niall! Help!” Harry yells, bright green eyes wide and desperate. His strangled yelp makes Niall realize that the blonde girl isn't trying to have sex with Harry at all. No... the girl is trying to _eat_ him.

He barely manages to process the way the girl's face is mangled as if someone has been gnawing on it and the way her eyes are an eerie, glassy white color before the girl throws Harry onto the couch in Niall's hotel room and launches herself onto him. Harry is screaming bloody murder at this point, and Niall's brain is only saying, _Shitshitshit._

Before he knows what he's doing, Niall runs forward, impressive sandwich raised in the air. The second he gets close enough to the girl, he swings the sub and catches her in the head. The zombie flops off of Harry, momentarily stunned and covered in mayonnaise and onions and circles of salami, and Niall takes these few blessed seconds to grab Harry by the hand and drag him out of the room.

Harry's breathing heavily and Niall notices his cheeks are streaked with blood.

“You alright?” Niall asks, as they literally run for their lives. He's not really dressed appropriately for this—loose, flannel pajama bottoms balloon around his wiry legs and a pair of faded sneakers flap against the floor. 

He glances over at Harry again. Harry is completely naked, save a pair of tight, black Calvin Klein boxers. At least Niall's better off than Harry.

“Yeah, thanks mate,” Harry manages in reply. “You really saved me back there.”

Niall and Harry turn around the corner of the hotel corridor and barge into Louis's room.

“You owe me a sandwich,” Niall tells Harry in a level voice.

Harry thwacks him in the head.

Niall shrieks in outrage.

+

Zayn hears Liam shout as he's inhaling from the cigarette. The shock causes him to splutter and he gasps as smoke fills his airways and it takes him about thirty seconds to make sure he's not hacking his lung out. When he finally manages to get control over his breathing, he glances up at Liam with a scowl.

The scowl immediately jumps off his face to be replaced by a terrified expression when he realizes Liam is dashing towards him as he howls in horror at the monster behind him. Zayn realizes that the man behind Liam who is also quickly approaching Zayn, _isn't_ a man. The man's eyeballs are nearly protruding out of his head and his skin looks pale and clammy. The man's neck is bent at an awkward angle and it looks like there are bitemarks embedded into his neck. And good God, his muscles are enormous.

“Run!” orders Liam, pushing Zayn forward. His brown eyes are wide and hysterical; his brown mop of hair is dripping with beads of sweat as he pulls Zayn along with him.

Zayn drops his cigarette onto the floor and follows Liam's orders blindly, heart slamming and lurching in his chest as the hideous creature behind him swipes at his back. Zayn's lungs tighten and protest the exercise and Zayn's pretty sure his body is going to collapse any second.

As he's skittering behind Liam, running from the gigantic zombie with biceps the size of his head, Zayn decides that if he survives this, he's definitely going to quit smoking.

+

Louis is pretty sure that this is the worst hangover of his entire twenty years of life. It's probably the worst hangover he'll ever have in his life. He throws a pillow over his head and buries his face in the mattress, willing his massive headache to leave him the fuck alone.

All he wants to do is sleep and Niall and Harry are being _impossibly_ loud and pretty much the worst friends on the entire planet as they throw open the door of his bedroom and start babbling.

“Lou! Lou! Get out of bed!” shrills Niall hysterically, waving his hands around frantically. He rips the blanket off of Louis's bed and tries to pull Louis up. His blue eyes are lit up in alarm, and Louis can practically see him foaming at the mouth in excitement.

“Go away,” Louis moans, stomach lurching and foreshadowing some time in front of the porcelain goddess. (Unfortunately, Louis is quite familiar with her).

“Lou get up!” Harry says urgently, and Louis glances up briefly at Harry before shutting his eyes.

“Hazza, go put on some clothes!” he orders. He's not in the mood for the curly-haired boy's shenanigans and he doesn't want to deal with the band's hungry leprechaun this early in the morning.

“Louis!” whines Niall. 

“Look!” barks Harry, flipping on the TV in Louis's room. The blare from the TV is the last thing Louis wants, and he whips himself into a sitting position, glaring furiously at Harry.

“Hazza, the fuck is your problem?” he snaps. He's going to refuse Harry any cuddling. And he's going to poison Niall's chips. Louis is hungover and a rambunctious Harry and Niall are the last things he needs.

But Harry doesn't reply and Niall's eyes are glued to the telly. Louis catches phrases and snippets of words—“illegal genetic testing,” “evacuate open, public spaces immediately,” “take refuge in thick-walled rooms”—and Louis reluctantly looks up. On the screen, a small, five-year-old girl with a blank stare and a bloody mouth _eats_ the reporter.

“Oh. Zombies,” Louis manages weakly. He leans back into his pillow before what he has just seen actually registers. Niall and Harry throw each other concerned looks.

Exactly nine seconds later, Louis sits straight up in bed. His blue eyes are huge in his head. “Holy fuck, _zombies!_ There's goddam zombies!” He grabs Harry's shoulders and shakes him silly. “Hazza, there are _zombies_ outside! Zombies! They're going to eat us-”

He's cut off by a shrill, high-pitched scream from outside.

 


	2. daddy direction takes charge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Louis scoffs at Liam. “As if I could be a zombie, Payne. I'm too handsome to die.”_

“What was _that_?” shrieks Niall girlishly, jumping into Harry's arms. Harry catches Niall, stumbles a bit under the boy's weight, but manages to support the blonde nonetheless. (Harry still doesn't have any clothes on save the pair of Calvin Kleins. Niall doesn't seem to mind).

 

“I don't know,” breathes Harry hesitantly, as Louis grabs his hand in terror and Niall buries his face in Harry's chest with a whimper. “Do... do you reckon Zayn and Liam are okay?”

 

In response, their two friends roll in through the door—Liam looks extremely sweaty and out of breath and Zayn looks like he might piss his pants any second. Which is justifiable—considering the muscled zombie man that bursts in after them.

 

As Niall, Harry, and Louis watch, jaws dropped open, Liam and Zayn strategically crawl under the couch in the common area, where there is a surprising amount of room. (It's still not enough room for the two teenage boys, however, and provides very inadequate protection when the monster grabs the couch and chucks it easily across the room as though it's no heavier than a bag of crisps).

 

“Help!” shrills Zayn, throwing Niall, Harry, and Louis a desperate look. He crawls under the coffee table, grabbing onto Liam for dear life. “Help! Don't just _stand_ there!”

 

Mind reeling, Harry drops Niall ungracefully to the floor. Niall hits it with a thump and opens his mouth to complain, but Harry is already rushing ahead. He runs into the bathroom adjoining Louis's bedroom and finds a hairdryer provided by the hotel. Plugging it in, he turns it on and holds it as threateningly as he can at the monster.

 

The muscled monster man momentarily stops swiping at Zayn and Liam—whose arms are wrapped around one another as they shout in distress from where they've taken refuge under the small coffee table—and turns to look puzzledly at Harry. At least Harry thinks he's puzzled—he's not very well-versed on the language of zombies (what would that be, Zombiese? Zombish?)

 

Harry holds up the hairdryer, pretending to be a lot braver than he actually is. “Stand back,” he musters, and the zombie leaps towards him, teeth bared, ugly canvas-colored skin stretched tight over his protruding sightless eyes.

 

Harry yelps—lifting the hairdryer up in defense, when the hairdryer sputters and stops working. Harry stares at it in horror—honestly, what services are they paying for at this hotel? This hotel really has a five star rating?—and starts screaming. “Louis! Help!” he warbles, flailing his arms and the useless broken hairdryer around. He closes his eyes, preparing himself for an inevitable death as the monster gets so close Harry can feel his breath on his cheek.

 

And all of the sudden there's a massive explosion. Harry feels a thick, sludgy liquid sliding down his face, and cracks open his eyes hesitantly. He registers the scene in front of him and then opens his eyes in unchecked shock.

 

Harry stares in disbelief at Niall, who is wielding a long metal rod—Harry momentarily registers that it must be the towel rack that Niall has pulled violently off of the wall of Louis's bathroom—covered in blood. The zombie's head is rolling around uselessly on the floor, its decapitated body crumpling slowly to the ground. The monster's flailing its hands still grasp at Harry's legs, and Harry shudders, jerking away as the fingers scratch at his legs. Niall looks shaken as he and Harry are both covered in zombie guts and blood, but there's a determination in his blue eyes that Harry has never seen before.

 

There's a terrified shout, and Harry manages to register Zayn, his eyes screwed shut in fear. 

 

Harry glances over at Niall, his mouth in a speechless “o.” The blonde has literally saved his life for the second time, and Harry's starting to wonder if he's underestimated Niall's acumen and physical strength this whole time. Zayn gapes noiselessly at Niall from where he's flattening Liam under the coffee table and even Liam looks wordlessly impressed as he stares at the Irish boy like he's grown another head. Louis just flounders from where he's lying in bed before managing a hoarse, “Holy _fuck,_ Horan, when did you get so badass?”

 

Niall glares at them, wiping the blood covered rod on his flannel pajama bottoms. “And you lot thought I'd be the first to die in a horror movie because I didn't know what was going on.”

 

An incredulous laugh manages to escape Harry because seriously... what the _hell?_ “Thanks, bud,” he says, his voice about an octave higher and much breathier than usual.

 

Niall finishes cleaning off the metal bar on his pants, and holds the towel rack in his hands. “No worries, mate,” he replies, the Irish lilt prominent in his voice. He glances over at Liam for direction. “So what do we do now, Daddy Direction?”

 

Liam is still shaking his head as he stares at the tiny Irish boy. Realizing that his mouth is still open, he blushes slightly and scrambles to a standing position, pulling Zayn up with him. He realizes that all the boys are looking to him to be the responsible leader, and he's determined to fill that role. Sure, Niall may have just kicked everyone's ass at zombie-slaying, but Liam is going to help them _survive,_ goddammit, if it's the last thing he does.

 

“Everyone, meet back here in Louis's room in ten minutes. Bring anything useful you can find and anything you might need—look for anything that can be used as a weapon. Harry and Niall—you guys might want to shower. Harry, for the love of _God,_ please put on some clothes. If anybody is attacked or diverted—remember to try by phone or make sure you meet at the tourbus, speaking of which, Harry I need the copy of the keys you and Louis made. _Niall look out_!”

 

The undead dead's head is rolling back towards its torso and beginning to fuse again. The monster's fingernails—curly and sharp and long, reach up to grab the Irish boy, but before it can inflict any damage, Niall stabs it straight in the chest with the rod. More thick blood rushes out, staining the hotel room carpet.

 

“I've got things under control,” Niall says, in a surprisingly chipper voice. His mouth is in a grim line, as he kicks the zombie's corpse to the side and grabs the decapitated head, walks over to the window, and chucks it outside. Liam flinches visibly as they hear the squelching splat it makes on concrete several stories below them on the street. “All better.” Niall walks back towards them as casually as if he'd just chucked a guitar pick to a screaming fan on the street rather than the head of a grotesque monster that just tried to shank him.

 

Zayn's eyes have protruded so much in his head Harry is a bit worried they might not go back in. Harry's starting to think Niall may have lost it. Maybe he really should have made Niall another sandwich. His thoughts are interrupted by the hacking noise Louis makes as he throws up all over his bed with a groan.

 

“Oh God,” Liam mutters, impatiently. “Guys, make that an additional ten minutes. Louis, mate, get yourself in the shower.”

 

Louis doesn't even protest from where he sits in a pile of soiled sheets. He blinks sheepishly, and manages a quick, “My head hurts so much—I'm never drinking again,” before he turns a pale shade of green. He swings himself up, and then runs to the bathroom where there's only more rough coughing and the telltale splash of vomit.

 

“Fat chance of that,” Niall grins over the sounds of Louis upchucking all of the contents of his stomach.

 

“He chose a bad day for a hangover,” Zayn manages to quip, and Harry can't help but laugh. Because this is fucking Tuesday and there are zombies and this whole situation is unbelievable.

 

Liam scowls at him, eyes serious and a bit put out. “Hazza, stop standing there and go put on some clothes. Twenty minutes.”

+

Liam is grateful for his composure and his ability to think quickly in stressful situations. Very much so as he stares at his practical outfit in the mirror. He's dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a thick plaid, long-sleeved shirt and a sweatshirt and a pair of good sneakers. This is an extremely rational choice of clothes—he can run pretty fast with these shoes; he's layered in case they face extreme cold. He glances down at his watch—he's due to meet back in Louis's room in five minutes, so he takes off, just his outfit on him as he drags a suitcase containing a blanket, a jar of peanut butter he found in his room, and two metal hammers he found in the utility closet across from his room.

 

He's taking a surprisingly leisurely time as he ducks into abandoned hotel rooms, looking for anything that might be useful. He finds a metal baseball bat that someone probably left in abandon or as he/she was killed—he gulps at the bloodstains on the wall—and hurriedly grabs that, clutching it to his side.

 

When he rolls his suitcase into Louis's room and finds the room deserted with no trace of the boys, the cogs in his brain start kicking into overdrive. Where are they? Has anything happened to them? He checks his watch—no, they should be here; it's three minutes after their designated meeting time.

 

“Gahhh,” comes a noise, and Liam looks up in alarm, raising his bat. Liam considers himself quite a pacifist—he never fights unless attacked himself—but he takes on one of his boxing stances he learned as a lad, prepared to beat the living shit out of whatever is coming to get him.

 

When Louis's bedroom door is flung open and there's just a pale, shaken boy with waves of tousled hair and bright blue eyes wearing a familiar navy and white striped shirt and bright red trousers, Liam sighs in relief, lowering his bat. “Good God, Lou, I thought you were a zombie.”

 

Louis scoffs at Liam. “As if I could be a zombie, Payne. I'm too handsome to die.”

 

“What does that mean?” Liam's forehead furrows with lines of confusion.

 

“Honestly, Liam, don't you watch any movies? Or do you just spend all your time being boring?” Louis says, a bitter tone in his voice. Liam writes Louis's attitude off to his being ridiculously hungover. The oldest boy keeps shaking and bringing his fingers to rub his temples and grimacing in pain.

 

“Lou, you know my favorite movies are the _Toy Story_ trilogy,” Liam sighs tiredly, “just do me a favor and explain.”

 

A mischievous smile tugs at Louis's lips and he crows triumphantly as he pokes Liam playfully in the chest. “You see, Liam, I'm the adorable, dashing hero of the movie that will survive completely unscathed! The worst that will happen to me is that I'll get a bit of blood on my face and the camera will zoom up on my beautiful face and my dark eyes and the girls in the audience will swoon with adoration-”

 

“You realize this isn't a movie right?” Liam asks skeptically. He wonders if Louis is mentally sound or if watching Niall gut the zombie man earlier that morning has scattered Louis's brains more than alcohol ever will.

 

“Don't you get it?” Louis bursts, “we're on Candid Camera, Liam! We're probably being Punk'd and that asshole Ashton Kutcher is there having a great laugh at us right now! Management is out there right now, pranking us—Paul is probably doubling up in giggles watching us all lose our minds, Uncle Simon is chuckling behind the camera, a stupid smile on his wrinkled mug and-”

 

He's cut off by Niall and Harry and Zayn stumbling back into his room. Niall and Harry look considerably cleaner—Harry's long, curly hair is dripping with water and Niall's face is wiped clean of the grime and zombie guts that decorated it before. Zayn's quiff is styled fiercely up and Liam wonders absently how much of his twenty minutes he wasted getting it into a perfect slope.

 

“Louis, you're mental,” Liam tells the other boy. Louis's shoulders sag and he opens his mouth to protest, but Liam stares him down in his most serious Daddy expression. “Go pack—now,” Liam orders, and he watches as Louis scuffles back into his room to pack a plentitude of jumpers and striped t-shirts. “Necessities only!” he calls, before turning to the other boys. “What did you find?”

 

Harry is thankfully dressed now—in a rather impractical blue blazer and jeans. He gives Liam a hopeful look as he shows Liam a small pocketknife that he managed to find while rummaging through another hotel room (Liam gives him kudos for being resourceful and Harry nods like an overexcited puppy being petted by its master) and hands Liam a sleepingbag he was able to grab from his room. Liam gives Harry a thumbs up for effort, and turns to Niall.

 

Niall's gripping hard onto his handsome guitar and a rolling suitcase full of... food. The entire bag is brimming with small (and large) bags of crisps, boxes of biscuits, day old pizza messily blanketed in saran wrap, three boxes of cereal, an entire barbecued chicken wrapped in foil, eleven cans of soda, and three-quarters of a loaf of bread. Liam looks at him incredulously, but Niall's blue eyes are so bright with pride and it's evident that he's run over his plans for the Apocalypse quite thoroughly. He won't starve to death, that's for sure—but they need to ration what they have, reasons Liam, so he slaps Niall's hand when Niall reaches to unwrap the pizza. Niall gives him a hurt look, but Liam stares at him sternly until Niall puts the pizza back with a huff, before turning to Zayn.

 

Liam's pretty sure it takes both Harry and Niall to prevent him from leaping on Zayn and strangling the darker boy.

 

“The world is ending and you packed a _straightener_ and _hairspray_ and a _mirror?_ Zayn, what the hell is wrong with you?” Liam blusters as Zayn's eyebrows climb up higher and higher into his forehead as though he's done nothing wrong and Liam's actually the impractical one.

 

“If I die I want to look good,” Zayn argues back weakly, hands defensively around his quiff as though he's afraid Liam will ruin it with his screaming. “Just because it's a crisis doesn't mean the world stops caring what you look like,” he says crossly, “I'll be the boy they pick to interview on the news—just you see, Liam Payne.”

 

Liam's clenching his fingers so hard in his fists that he's starting to form little indents in his palms from his nails. Forcing himself to stay calm, he hollers at Louis to hurry up and then glances at all of his bandmates. “Let's get moving, boys.”

+

Carrying stuff is hard, reasons Louis. He's used to having people hold his bags for him, and lugging around his suitcase full of his precious Toms and a bag of carrots and some of his favorite nautical shirts is making him realize that perhaps he should start tipping bellboys more in the future.

 

And there will be a future. Liam obviously doesn't see it, but this whole genetic virus theory and the fact that there are _zombies_ running around is laughable. Obviously the boys of One Direction have made it big enough in the States and management thought it would be funny to play a huge prank on them.

 

At least that's what Louis tries to convince himself as he watches Liam hit a zombie in the head with a baseball bat. (Niall looks on in adoration). Impressive dramatic effects, Louis thinks to himself. He wonders how long the makeup job must have taken to achieve that much accuracy, and how much the flying guts that land on his shirt must have costed.

 

His head hurts an awful lot. Louis forces himself to focus on not throwing up. He's pretty sure that the boys might leave him behind—and if there's actually a zombie apocalypse going on, he doesn't want to be left defenseless to flesh-hungry, sociopathic creatures.

 

Liam is ushering all the boys along with a fierce determination. “Hurry up before these living dead blokes attack the bus.”

 

“Where are we going?” asks Harry in a bewildered way, green eyes flashing in confusion.

 

“I have a plan,” Liam answers, as he hurries the boys down the stairs. He leads the way with Niall, who has evidently abandoned his zombie slaying skills to pay attention to the food in his suitcase instead.

 

“What's your plan?” drawls Harry in his low, long way, and Liam just presses his eyes shut patiently and responds, “Don't wory about it, Haz. I have a plan.”

 

Harry has to be content with that ambiguous response as the boys enter the lobby of the hotel.

 

In the lobby, it's eerily quiet, and Louis listens for any signs of monsters, but there's nothing. The boys edge towards the hotel entrance, formed in a circle—giving them all a full view of their surroundings. And then all the sudden there's a loud growl, and Louis's eyes grow huge in his head. “What is that?”

 

Harry, Liam, and Zayn whirl around wildly, searching for a zombie 

 

“You don't think they're invisible, do you?” manages Zayn, his body and his quiff trembling in fear.

 

“Don't be daft, Zayn,” Louis says, “not even special effects can do that.”

 

Zayn stares at him bewilderedly, and Louis realizes he hasn't explained his Punk'd theory to Zayn. He opens his mouth to enlighten the Bradford boy when the growling noise sounds again. It sounds dangerously close.

 

“What is that?” whispers Liam, brown eyes wide in fear. “Where is it coming from? Niall?”

 

Niall's face flames pink. And Louis realizes that the growling is coming from Niall's stomach. “Good God, Niall—what did you swallow, a pitbull?”

 

“I'm _hungry,_ ” howls Niall, his pale face now nearly maroon. “I didn't get to eat breakfast because I used my sub to save Harry's ugly mug,” (“ _Hey!_ ” Harry shrills in protest, “you love my mug! And it's not ugly!”) “and you know how I can't go long without food-”

 

He's interrupted off by a stealthy zombie flinging itself down from—good lord, is that the _ceiling?_ —which Zayn hurriedly leaps towards and sprays in the face with his expensive hairspray. The zombie flails and moans on the ground, blinded and face burning and melting from whatever chemicals are in the tube of hair product, and Zayn turns with bright eyes and a hitched, shit-eating grin to look at Liam. “See? And you said this was _useless_ , shows how much you know, Liam-”

 

“Just get in the bus!” shouts Liam, looking offput and angry about everything. (Louis reckons he's probably most angry about Zayn's worthless apocalyptic stash actually coming into use).

 

The boys scramble outside, nearly tripping over one another as they head towards the familiar tourbus. Liam reaches into the pocket of his sweater, fishing out the copy of the keys Harry gave him, before opening the door. Liam heads in, Louis hot on his heels (he needs to sit down so his world will stop spinning, God, _fuck_ ), and Harry's stepping in when there's a tremendously loud snarl.

 

“Niall! Can you just tell your stomach to calm down before I have another heart attack?” snaps Liam. He feels a bit bad about his sharp tone, but the boys are being impossible and he's worried about actually driving the tourbus and formulating a plan—Liam doesn't actually have a plan at all; he just said that he did so Harry would shut up—and Niall's stomach is going to cause him to get grey hairs at eighteen.

 

Niall glances down at his tummy and then looks at Liam, a biting protest on his lips. “Liam, that wasn't my stomach.”

 

“Then do you mind telling me what the hell that was?” Liam asks, rolling his eyes.

 

“I don't know,” Niall starts, and he's interrupted by a terrified scream. All of the boys watch, horror painted all over their faces as Zayn is pulled under the tourbus.


	3. in which hazza drives a bus

Zayn doesn't know exactly what's happening, but it goes something like this: one second, he's boarding the bus and the next he's screaming in terror, fingers scraping the hard concrete of the parking lot as he fights whatever is pulling him under the bus. The back of his head hits the metal bumper of the vehicle as he's going under, and he's stunned momentarily—vision filling with stars and spirals and something akin to glitter—and it's suddenly incredibly dark. For a moment, his eyes adjust to the dark, before he realizes he can feel hot breath against the back of his neck and feel clawed fingers scratching his torso.

 

A zombie is holding him.

 

A freaking _zombie_ is holding him and pulling him under the bus where it is going to _eat him._ It's going to gut him alive and consume him as easily as Louis snacks on carrots. The zombie is going to make him its mid-afternoon snack. And the thought that's even more terrifying—if even possible—creeps into his mind where it lodges there suddenly: it might turn _him_ into a zombie.

 

Zayn thinks he'd be a pretty good-looking zombie (rotting skin or not, nobody can deny the attractiveness of his quiff and his arched eyebrows and his nearly feminine eyelashes), but the idea of lusting after human flesh in a non-sexual way but a “I-want-you-for-dinner” way is incredibly disturbing. That coupled with the thought that he might change Niall, Liam, Louis, and Harry into flesh-eating monsters is also scary.

 

His instincts for self-preservation kick in and he's throwing punches wildly and thrashing his legs while shrilling at the top of his lungs for someone to help him. He feels his fist collide with something that feels rubbery and fleshy, and when he looks at his hand again, it's covered in blood and things he'd prefer not to think about.

 

“Help!” he screams, “God, please, somebody _help!_ ” He grasps his fingers desperately against the metal bumper of the bus and uses all of his effort to pull himself out of the darkness and back into the blessed light. He manages to pull himself out from under the dark vehicle, and thank the lord, there are hands in his wrists, ripping him out of the zombie's grasp.

 

Zayn is pulled to safety by Liam—Liam, who is staring at Zayn with wide brown eyes and concern etched into all of his features. Liam's hands are on Zayn's wrists and the brunette is trembling as he holds onto Zayn and asks him if he's okay. Zayn just stares at Liam, goldfishing in relief and trying to catch his breath when the thought registers that _shit,_ the zombie is still _there._

 

As he whirls around, the zombie leaps out from under the bus, eyeballs rolling in and out of its sockets. The zombie with matted, greasy hair and diseased looking skin. 

 

Zayn freezes.

 

And then Liam is _shoving_ him roughly, pushing him shouting, “ _Get out of the way_ , Zayn!” as Niall comes out of nowhere, brandishing his beautiful reddish-brown guitar. Niall takes his prized possession and clubs the zombie straight in the middle of the head.

 

 

An explosion like nothing Zayn has seen before—not even like the one from earlier that morning when Niall already saved his ass—erupts in front of him. Niall's guitar breaks in half with a loud crack—strings curling and wooden frame clattering to the ground. Blood and guts and zombie parts—Zayn flinches at the teeth that go flying through the air—gush out everywhere, covering the side of the tour bus. Some sludge freckles Zayn's face and he can hear Liam's sharp intake of breath next to him as he turns to avoid being deluged by phlegm and the zombie's whizzing eyeballs.

 

 

“Oh my God,” Zayn gasps, his voice shaking uncontrollably. He feels his entire body quaking with fright because— _oh God, oh God, oh God_ he nearly just _died_ —and the whole picture keeps replaying in his head. The zombie with its sharp nails and mottled skin and mouth and sharp teeth dripping with blood—its hot breath against his skin as it prepared to shank him.

 

“Niall?” comes Harry's alarmed voice as he pokes his head out warily from the tour bus door. (Fucking coward, thinks Zayn, a bit resentfully. There are Liam and Niall, risking their bloody necks to save Zayn's life, and Larry Stylinson are just sitting on the bus. Louis is probably puking right that moment). The curly-haired boy's green eyes are uncharacteristically worried as he studies the blonde boy, “Nialler, you alright?”

 

 

And that's when Zayn notices the way Niall is grimacing in pain, teeth gritted tightly together, as he yanks the zombie's claws out from where they're buried in his leg.

+

Harry's pretty sure this is the worst day in his whole life. It tops the day his mum and dad sat him down to tell him they were getting divorced, the roller coaster of a day when he was told he didn't make it to the Judges' House at the X Factor, even the day he cried on national television wondering why people sent him cruel comments telling him they hated him.

 

 

He's also pretty sure this is the worst day of Niall's life.

 

 

“Niall!” Harry hears Zayn's hoarse call, and the darker boy known for being vain and Daddy Direction are running towards Niall.

 

 

Niall's eyes are puzzled, blank, as he stares down at the blood staining its way through his trousers like he doesn't understand what it is. There are ragged holes in his pants from where the monster's claws sunk in, and Harry fights the urge to vomit as he sees the crimson sloshing out of the Irish boy's pale skin. The wound is angry, bloody, gaping and Harry wonders how on earth Niall isn't crying hysterically because... well _shit,_ Harry definitely would be. Louis takes one look at Niall's gaping wounds, pales, and starts puking out the window of the tour bus, but nobody pays attention to him as all their eyes are focused on their brave little leprechaun.

 

“Shit,” Liam is cursing wildly. Niall's eyes roll back up in his head and he lets out an audible whimper of agony before his legs collapse under him. Zayn manages to catch the blonde before his body hits the ground, and Liam helps Zayn support Niall's body as they carry him onto the bus.

 

 

“Shit,” Liam repeats, as he and Zayn clamber up the steps off the bus and lower Niall to the bus floor. There's a slam against the window, and Harry jumps in shock, gaping at a monster squishing its head against the side of the tour bus. Louis shuts the window he's throwing up out of in alarm, his expression queasy, as Harry closes the bus door. 

 

“Shit,” Liam says again, and Harry is starting to wonder if this whole zombie business has caused Liam to completely lose his vocabulary and his ability to utter anything other than four letter words.

 

“Niall, stay with me. Don't close your eyes.” Liam slaps Niall's pale face lightly, and Niall's blue eyes groggily flash open. Niall glances down at his leg, and a stream of steady curse words escape, mixed with his Irish lilt. 

 

“Oh _fuck, fuck, fuck_...” his voice trails off, eyes flashing back and forth between Liam and Zayn. The Irish boy looks at Zayn uneasily, “What happened to my guitar?”

 

Zayn laughs helplessly, and Harry's struck by the irony of the situation. Niall's in danger of bleeding to _death_ —at least that's what Harry figures; he knows nothing about scratch/claw wounds and he likes adding drama to things—and the only thing he can think of is his _guitar?_

 

“I'll buy you a new one,” Zayn promises, ruffling Niall's hair, and Niall gives the darker boy a brave smile in reply. “An even nicer one, okay?”

 

 

“You better—I saved your life, you fucker,” Niall says saucily, and then his eyes widen in pain again, and his head rolls back, mouth in a tight grimace. “God, Zayn, _fuck,_ it hurts so much-”

 

 

“I got you babes,” Zayn replies at the same time Liam says, “Shh, Niall, you're gonna be okay.” Harry latches onto Liam's words of reassurance, but he notices that Liam sounds unsure of himself.

 

Blood makes Harry queasy. He doesn't like the way it looks or smells—not when he had to dissect a rat in secondary school, its congealed blood all dark and almost brown; not the way he'd cut his knee on the pavement when he was biking only to run home and be patched up by his mother; not the time Louis had punched him playfully and Harry had ended up with a bloody nose—and especially not the way it keeps sliding to the floor as it gushes out of Niall's wound.

 

“Harry,” Liam's voice is calm, but Harry can tell it takes Daddy Direction all his effort to keep it that level. “Harry, I need you to drive.”

 

 

“What?” squawks Harry incredulously. Right as he speaks, a gnarled hand cracks the window of the bus—an androgynous looking monster—Harry can't tell if it used to be a man or a woman and he finds that even more alarming for some reason—is trying to break its way in. Glass rains to the floor, and Louis screams girlishly.

 

“Well you're awful with blood,” Zayn says matter-of-factly. Harry resents this, mainly because Zayn is turning pale at the sight of blood welling up from Niall's leg. But, he admits to himself, Zayn has a point.

 

“And we can't let Amy Winehouse over here drive,” Liam replies sarcastically, pointing at Louis who is turning green again. Harry wonders how much alcohol he had to consume to produce that much puke. He also wonders how much puke Louis can produce before he... well... can you _die_ from throwing up?

 

His thoughts are interrupted by Liam throwing him a pair of keys.

 

 

“Where... where am I driving to?” Harry asks, rather stupidly, pushing a curl out of his eye.

 

 

“Just get us out of here!” Liam barks authoritatively, and Harry scrambles to the front of the bus, staring at the handles and knobs in alarm.

 

“Liam! I don't know how to drive a bus!” Harry yells, at the same time as the bus _lurches_ from the weight of the monsters slamming themselves against it. “Where am I going?”

 

“Just _drive!_ We just need to get _out of here_!” shrills Liam, eyes widening to the size of cantaloupes in his head as a rotting hand breaks its way through the emergency exit window. “And throw me your blazer!”

 

“What?” Harry shrieks in disbelief. What does Liam want with his _blazer_?

 

 

As if reading his mind, Louis pipes up helpfully. “He needs to make a bandage for our baby leprechaun, Hazza! Trust the man! And _drive_!”

 

Harry stares at Louis in the rearview mirror of the bus. The oldest boy is looking particularly gleeful... either that or he's delirious with crazy. Harry figures he's probably still stuck on the theory they're all being Punk'd even though Harry figures that Niall bleeding all over the place is a pretty good indication that this is not a joke at all.

 

 

Obeying Liam's orders, Harry takes off his blazer and chucks it at Liam. For good measure, he also takes off his t-shirt because Liam can probably use it, and Harry's most comfortable when he's naked, and a certain level of comfortable is good for a crisis, right?

 

 

Breath hitching in trepidation, shirtless Harry shoves the key into the ignition and starts to drive.

+

Niall hasn't thought about the end of the world very much, but he remembered in an interview once, he'd proclaimed he'd want the boys there with him. He'd gone on and on, raving about how with their combined brawn and brains, they'd help each other out of the mess.

 

 

Niall's not really if he thinks that anymore.

 

 

He really doesn't know what he was thinking in that interview, Niall contemplates ruefully. A whole lot of good the boys have done him this past morning. Harry has costed Niall a delicious sandwich and valuable time taking a shower, Louis has thrown up more consecutive times than Niall has ever witnessed, Liam is becoming so impossibly bossy he's yelling everything, and Zayn... well Zayn has caused Niall to lose his guitar and to be nearly gutted by a half-dead monster. (Not that Niall would take anything back, of course. He'd take Zayn over his guitar any day).

 

 

“There's another one!” howls Louis.

 

 

“Yes, we know!” Zayn groans, rolling his eyes. Niall's pretty sure Zayn might pass out soon, judging on the way he's swaying queasily—which is kind of unfair and unwarranted, considering the fact that Niall's only bleeding because he saved Zayn's life.

 

 

Louis has been proclaiming and re-proclaiming the existence of zombies (or their impressively digitally rendered images) since Harry's started driving. Unfortunately, the half-naked Harry keeps on treating Louis's useless claims and screams as though they're incredibly helpful. Niall thinks that it's mostly because Hazza wants to take his mind off the fact that a) he can't drive buses worth shit, b) Liam keeps ordering him to do things he doesn't know how to do, c) the fact that he can't seem to keep his clothes on (okay, Niall doesn't really know if Harry considers that to be a problem), and d) they're in the zombie apocalypse for Christ's sake.

 

 

As the bus swerves dangerously, Liam is using the pocketknife Harry provided earlier to slash Harry's precious blazer into pieces.

 

 

“Niall, hold on, okay?” Liam's worried voice fills Niall's mind and he nods blankly. Because what is he supposed to do? It's not like he's just going to get up and walk anywhere. The pain—which was blinding and white-hot before, is slowly dwindling to a blunt, dull agony in his leg. Niall wonders if that's necessarily a good thing, but he's appreciative of the fact that every jostle of the bus—Harry really doesn't know how to drive at all—he's not biting back the urge to scream anymore.

 

 

“There's another one!” sing-songs Louis. Niall kind of wants to punch him.

 

 

The bus jumps as a zombie splatters against the bus windshield and everybody stares at Harry in shock.

 

 

“Well what was I supposed to do?” asks Harry crossly and rather hysterically from where he's attempting to maneuver the vehicle. “At least we killed another one!”

 

 

Liam opens his mouth to say something, but Louis beats him to the punch. The oldest boy chirps a compliment, blue eyes blazing with pride. “Good job, Hazza!”

 

 

Harry beams under the praise, and then turns his eyes to the road again where he avoids hitting a van careening into a tree. It seems as though other people are trying to escape as well—families packing up in vans, small five-man vehicles full of terrified teenage girls—is that a man on a _bicycle?_ Oh, yes it is, until he gets swallowed whole by what seems to be a zombified toddler.

 

 

Liam manages to rip a thick piece of fabric from Harry's blue blazer, and tells Zayn to get him some water. Zayn rummages through a bag in an overhead compartment until he finds a water bottle, and then obeying Liam's instructions, pours some of the water onto Niall's leg.

 

 

“Okay, Niall, this is gonna hurt a bit,” Liam tells Niall, looking at him with dewy, apologetic, fatherly eyes. “I just have to stop the bleeding, alright?”

 

“Just hurry up,” Niall pleads, and Zayn is there, squeezing Niall's hand into bloody oblivion, his forehead lined with concern.

 

And Liam presses Harry's white t-shirt against Niall's leg as hard as he can as he tries to staunch the flow of blood.

 

And the pain is back, kicking and rearing and the wound is _alive_ under the pressure, and Niall feels tears spring to his eyes and before he can stop himself, he's bloody _crying_ like a little girl.

 

 

“Oh God,” Zayn whispers, sounding horrified as though he's afraid of the answer. “Niall are you crying?”

 

 

“No,” Niall bites back defiantly, but his reply is weak and watery, and there is no denying the evidence as hot tears make their way down his cheeks.

 

 

Liam fastens the hard fabric of Harry's blazer against Niall's leg, and wraps it around Niall's wound. He ties the makeshift bandage in place with it with another part of the blazer, and strokes Niall's face softly. Zayn is still squeezing Niall's hand like he'll never let go, eyes softened with an uncharacteristic gentleness.

 

 

In spite of all the pain, Niall thinks, he feels damn loved.

 

 

“You're gonna be fine, Niall,” Liam says, in a voice that's supposed to be reassuring, and Niall wonders how on earth he knows that. As far as Niall knows, Liam doesn't have experience in the Red Cross or anything, but he puts his trust in the older boy. Liam's managed to get them this far, so he must know _something_.

 

 

“I'm gonna drive,” Liam continues tiredly, and he pats Niall's shoulder comfortingly before bounding up the aisle of the bus to commandeer the vehicle. The bus jerks and bumps precariously as Liam and Harry switch places, but when Liam starts driving, the ride is a lot smoother. (Niall wonders absently when Liam learned how to drive a bus, but he's learned not to ask Liam things and rather just be appreciative that Liam Goddamn Payne is just incredibly versatile). 

 

Harry comes back down the aisle, his eyes wide with shock, hands playing absently with his bare chest. Niall counts his four nipples rather deliriously.

 

 

“I can't believe I just drove the freaking bus,” Harry mumbles. He plops down next to Niall and eyes the bandage in an impressed way. “How you doing, Nialler?”

 

 

“Just peachy,” Niall replies cheekily, and Harry sighs in relief. 

 

 

“There's my little Irishman,” he grins, dimples prominent on his face.

 

 

“When we get out of here, I'm going to take you to Nando's every day for the rest of your life,” Zayn tells Niall, from where he's still holding Niall's hand.

 

 

“Sounds fair,” Niall says faintly, “after you get me my new guitar.”

 

 

“It's a deal,” Zayn smiles in a relieved way. “We got you, Nialler.”

 

 

“Zombie!” squeals Louis, pointing off somewhere and interrupting their little, intimate love fest.

 

 

Zayn gives Louis a withering glare. Louis gives him the finger in return.

 

 

“I'm sorry I've been so bossy,” Liam apologizes regretfully, looking at all the boys in the rearview mirror. He glances sorrowfully at the shirtless, trembling Harry, who looks like he's aged years in the past fifteen minutes and who has been the receiver of most of Liam's ranting.

 

 

“It's okay, Daddy Direction! I'd rather be bitched at than bit at,” quips Harry in his slow, methodical way, and all of the boys can't help but laugh.

 

 

Their laughs are uneasy, but they're laughing. They may be in danger of losing their lives, but at least they're together.

 

 

And Niall thinks that even though he's in the middle of the worst video game he's ever played, backed only by a half-naked Harry, a hysterical Zayn, an impossibly domineering Liam, and a hungover Louis, he'd choose this team over any well-equipped, professionally trained, zombie-slaying team any day.

 

 

They might just survive this thing after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear what you think! I'll try to get the next chapter up soon--thanks for reading :) x


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